Edeard smiled. “A Dinlay-wife-sculpting guild. I like it. But Nanitte’s daughter …?”
“Aye! Ladydamn. I knew it the minute I saw her; she didn’t even have to tell me who she was. It triggered all those memories, the ones I’d tried so hard to forget. Then she claimed she and her mother quarreled incessantly and she couldn’t stand living at home anymore, so she spent the last four years on the road before she came here. Viewing the world, she claims. You know, I was one of the first people she came to. She said her mother had given her the names of people in the city who would help her if she ever got here. Not much of a quarrel, then, eh? I bet the bitch sent her here to ruin us all.”
“Knowing Nanitte, more than likely.” Edeard checked again. Dinlay was through the archway in the dappled gray wall, asking a servant where the master of Sampalok was. “Where did Nanitte make her home eventually?”
“She worked her witch magic on some poor rich bastard in Obershire, apparently. He married her a month after she arrived, and they live in a fine house on a big farming estate.”
“Good for her,” Edeard muttered.
Macsen snorted in contempt.
“But don’t you see?” Edeard responded. “She’s changed. She’s become a part of our society. It’s an acknowledgment we are the right way forward for us all. A timely reminder we mustn’t falter, if you ask me.”
“Whatever,” Macsen said wearily. “Anyway, it took Dinlay all of half a minute to fall head over heels for the daughter. As usual.”
“Well, maybe this time he’ll get it right. He’s certainly had enough practice.”
“Not a Ladydamned chance.”
Edeard remembered the flirtatious smile Hilitte had bestowed on him as they met. Macsen’s right; the omens aren’t good.
Dinlay opened the door, giving Macsen a cautious look.
“Good to see you,” Edeard said, and gave his friend a warm hug.
Dinlay returned the embrace, contentment and relief apparent in his mind. “We really were starting to get worried, you know.”
“I know, and I thank you for that concern. But it’s a big world out there, and we know so little of it. Honestly, the sights I have seen …”
“Really? Tell us!”
“There were huge rock creatures in the southern seas like coral islands that float. I even stood on one. And trees! Lady, the trees on Parath—a whole continent on the other side of Querencia—I swear they were the same height as the tallest tower in Eyrie. And the animals we found. Have you seen the ones we brought back? They were just the small ones. There was something on Maraca, the continent beyond Parath, that was the size of a house. It had blue skin and skulked about in swamps. The jungles, too! Around the equator on Maraca they make Charyau’s temperature look like a mild winter; they’re like steam baths.”
“You’ve never been to Charyau,” Macsen accused.
“But Natran has,” Edeard countered. “And he gifted me the memories.”
“Lady, I wish I’d come with you,” a wistful Dinlay declared.
“I’ve already said that,” Macsen grumbled. “See what happens when you leave us in charge?”
“We’re hardly to blame,” Dinlay said hotly.
Edeard and Dinlay exchanged a private look. “All right,” Edeard sighed. “Tell me what’s been happening in my city.”
The Our City movement had begun soon after the flotilla departed, Dinlay explained. Some argument in Tosella had sparked it off, apparently. A newlywed couple had found themselves a cluster of empty rooms in a big mansion between the Blue Tower and Hidden Canal. The rooms were up in the eaves and had odd split-level floors with a rolling step, which was why they’d never been claimed. However, there was a good-size room at one end where the man could set up his jewelry workshop. But they didn’t register their residency until after the wedding, as was traditional in Makkathran. That was when the trouble started. They came back from their honeymoon and found that a stopover family had moved in.
“Temporary,” Macsen grunted. “That’s all. Two brothers had brought their mother from Fandine province to Makkathran for a Skylord’s guidance. She was arthritic and was succumbing to the onset of dementia. They just missed one Skylord by a week, and there were no approaching Skylords sighted by the Astronomy Guild, so it was probably going to be several months until the next one arrived. In the meantime, the brothers couldn’t afford to rent a tavern room for that long or take one in the new inns out in the villages. The empty rooms were a logical solution.”
“The newlyweds told them to get out,” Dinlay said. “At which point one of the sons went and registered their residency claim with the Board of Occupancy at the Courts of Justice. As they’d lived in the rooms for the required two days and two nights, they were entitled.”
“Oh, Lady,” Edeard moaned. He knew how this tale was going to unfold. There had always been resentment at the number of stopover visitors. He and Mayor Trahaval had talked about the problem before he’d confronted the nest. There hadn’t been an immediate solution, though the inns being built in the coastal towns and out on the Iguru had seemed like a solution that ultimately would solve everything. It was only by the grace of the Lady that there hadn’t been an “incident” like this one back then.
“The jeweler and his new bride both had large families, and they were well connected,” Dinlay continued. “Worse, no other empty cluster of rooms would do—for the newlyweds or the stopover brothers. It had to be this one. So the couple made their stand: Makkathran buildings for Makkathran citizens. It was a popular cause. The stopover brothers and their mother were forcefully evicted. By the time the constables arrived, they were already out on the street and in need of hospital treatment from a beating. The newlyweds were installed along with their furniture, and a huge crowd of their relatives blocked the entrance to the mansion. Not that they really needed to; the constables who arrived on the scene weren’t entirely unsympathetic. All they did was cart off the brothers and their mother.
“That might have been the end of it. But legally the rooms were registered to the brothers. So the newlyweds brought in legal help to revoke the residency and make it their own.”
Edeard closed his eyes in anguish. “Please! Lady, no, not him.”
“Oh, yes,” Macsen said with vicious delight. “Master Cherix took the case.”
Because the couple, legally, were unequivocally in the wrong and everyone knew it, all Cherix could do in court was fight a holding action. A registration of occupancy could be overturned only by an order of the Grand Council. In order to get that, the legal case had to become a political campaign. The Our City movement was born four weeks before the elections. Mayor Trahaval was strictly in favor of existing law and order, as espoused by the Waterwalker, as he was fond of repeating at every speech. Doblek, up until then a simple formality opposition candidate, chose to support Our City. He won a landslide majority, as did a host of Our City representatives.
The Our City movement was something its members took very seriously. By the end of the first week every single vacant space in every building in Makkathran was occupied and registered by one of their own. And the visitors arriving with their dying relatives had nowhere to stay; like the brothers before them, most couldn’t afford the inns for what might be months. It all came to a head in Ilongo a week after Doblek was sworn in at the Orchard Palace. Some newly arrived visitors, outraged at being told they couldn’t stay in the city where their dearly beloved were due to be guided from, tried to squat in some of Ilongo’s central mansions. There were riots that the constables alone couldn’t quell, not that they tried particularly hard. That was when Doblek acted with impressive resolution, ordering the militia in to stamp down hard on the disturbance.
From that day on, anyone who came to Makkathran to be guided by a Skylord and couldn’t afford a tavern room was prevented from passing through the city gates until a day before the great event, when the Lady’s Mothers organized their passage up the towers. Even then, relati
ves who’d been camping outside were discouraged from accompanying them to Eyrie.
“Doblek really thought he was emulating you on the day of banishment,” Macsen said. “Throwing them all out and forbidding them to come back was what you did to Bise and the rest. And enough stupid people think the same; they applaud how tough he was.”
“I’m surprised he had the courage to suggest such a thing,” Edeard said. “That’s not the Doblek I remember.”
“Power changes people,” Dinlay said simply, giving Macsen a sharp look. “And necessity. What else could he do?”
Edeard realized this was an old argument between his friends.
“I could accept that if he’d made any attempt to alter things since then,” Macsen said. “But he hasn’t. He doesn’t know what to do, and more people are arriving each day. Did you know we’ve only just started getting our first visitors from the most distant provinces? And I include Rulan in that.”
“Cheap,” Dinlay muttered.
“Not really. The volume of people coming here is still rising. Doblek has done nothing to address that. Nothing! He had to deploy another militia troop to safeguard the route into Makkathran. The people he’d forced outside were starting to waylay merchant carts and caravans. So now we have a permanent presence of militia extending well out into the Iguru, and the stopover camps are hacking down the forests outside for fuel. You know those trees were planted by Rah and the Lady themselves.”
“The area circling Makkathran was designated a forest zone by Rah,” Dinlay said wearily. “He didn’t go around planting seeds himself; that’s One City propaganda.”
“Whatever,” Macsen said. “The problem is Doblek’s actions, or rather lack of them. What does he think is going to happen, that it’ll all sort itself out? And Edeard, we’ve heard rumors that the Fandine militia is on the march through Plax.”
Edeard gave Macsen a puzzled look. “Why?”
“Because we’ve used our militia against their citizens. They’re claiming the right of protection.”
“Oh, Great Lady!”
“It’s the distance,” Dinlay said. “That’s our trouble. Rumor grows with each mile. A report of what was a grazed arm and a bloody nose in Makkathran has become some kind of mass murder of innocents by the time it reaches Fandine.”
“So is it true about the Fandine militia, then?”
“General Larose sent fast scouts out last week. We’ll know soon enough.”
“Militias fighting on the Iguru,” Edeard muttered in disbelief. The loss of life during the last campaign against the bandits had appalled him. He’d thought such horror had ended then. It certainly couldn’t be allowed to happen again; he had never forgotten the carnage Owain had unleashed. “I must speak with Doblek.”
“To what end?” Macsen asked. “You think he’ll back down and order the militia back inside the gate?”
“He was elected courtesy of Our City,” Dinlay said. “He’ll never go against the cause that put him in the Orchard Palace.”
Edeard briefly thought about using domination. He’d learned enough of that technique from Tathal and the nest in those last few seconds to change anyone’s mind for them. But the Mayor was only one man; it would only solve the immediate problem—that was if there even was a Fandine militia marching on the city with revenge in mind. It was the whole situation that had to be calmed—a situation the Skylords had created. And how’s that for irony?
He recalled the meeting he’d had with Macsen and Kanseen just after Dinlay had returned from his honeymoon with Gealee. At that point Mayor Trahaval had come nowhere close to finding a solution to the massive influx of people awaiting guidance. Edeard had told the others he’d try to find out why the Skylords would accept people only from Eyrie’s towers. But there’d never been time to ask them before his final confrontation with the nest, and this time around he’d never bothered. Such things had been abandoned in favor of the voyage.
If I can get the Skylords to visit other towns on Querencia, then this will all just go away. In the meantime he had to do something about the stopover refugees outside North Gate. All that animosity on both sides is going to corrode the fulfillment which the Skylords judge us by.
“All right,” Edeard said. “Just how intractable is Our City?”
“It’s a one-cause movement, which means they simply can’t be moderate,” Dinlay said. “There will never be any kind of compromise with them, so if you’re going to take them on, it will have to be a direct election and you change the law after you’re Mayor.”
“Sounds drastic.” Edeard sucked in his cheeks. “I’d better go take a look for myself, then.”
———
Our City had, appropriately enough, set up its headquarters in Ilongo. Dinlay had told Edeard with grudging admiration how their political ability had grown since their hurried formation. Eight of the current district representatives had stood on the Our City ticket, forming a powerful bloc in the Council. But their greatest influence over the lives of citizens came directly from the residency issue. If you were a Makkathran native searching for somewhere new to live, you had to ask Our City for its cooperation. Now that their members had legal occupancy of every previously vacant room and dwelling, they were the ones who had to relinquish their claim before someone else could move in. Only when they’d confirmed you were a genuine born-in-the-city applicant would one of their members vacate the place you wanted. In effect, Our City now controlled who lived where. And as with all political parties, they traded advantage and made deals with rivals and other groups in the Council and down on the streets and canals, insinuating themselves deeper and deeper into the city’s political structure.
Edeard walked into the Ilongo district from a gondola platform on North Curve Canal. The narrow streets in the center were a notorious maze: Most of the district was composed of boxy buildings with walls at quite sharp angles, creating alleys of narrow tunnels with only a slim line of sky visible along the apex. Streets opened into unexpected squares that were like wells of light amid the overhanging walls; fountains bubbled away cheerfully as if to celebrate the sudden glare of the sun.
It was the first Makkathran district he’d ever walked through, he remembered, he and Salrana gazing in delight at the weird buildings and more than a little nervous at the sheer number of people walking through the narrow streets and passageways. They’d pressed together for comfort and maybe just to enjoy each other, believing strongly in the future they’d have together.
He jammed his teeth together, hating the memory, hating that despite everything he could do, so much had gone wrong. That young happy Salrana was lost now, gone beyond his ability to recover. As was dear little Burlal. Unless of course I go back far enough and repeat the Weapons Guild atrocity deep below Spiral Tower. Even then, it would save only Salrana. Burlal would never be born into the world that would emerge from that.
It’s no good, I can only ever save one, even if I could bring myself to confront a living Owain again. I can only ever go forward.
Unless, he acknowledged darkly, he lived both lives. Went back and saved Salrana from Ranalee and herself and lived that life until it was time for Salrana to be guided to Odin’s Sea. Then, at the very last moment, instead of accepting guidance for himself, dive back to the time when Burlal was alive and somehow defeat Tathal another way.
Useless, he acknowledged in anguish. There is no way to defeat Tathal other than the way it’s already been done. I spent years trying. Burlal is truly beyond my reach now. My poor gorgeous grandchild.
And worse, attempting such a rescue would banish Kiranan into nothingness, along with the twins’ new babes. Unless I live this life first, then– Oh, sweet Lady, why did you ever curse me with this gift!
He came out into Rainbow Square, named after the seven walls, each with its furlike growth of moss. The actual surface was porous, weeping a steady trickle of moisture, like a sponge being squeezed. Vivid emerald moss thrived in such an ambience, its perpetually damp
fronds tipped by tiny droplets that glistened brightly under the sunlight boring down the center of the square, creating a prismatic haze.
Unlike the rest of Ilongo’s crowded streets, this was empty. The Waterwalker’s black cloak stirred in agitation as he waited in front of the tallest building. Its wall leaned back away from him; in the middle was an arching double door of some ancient black wood. A smaller inset door opened.
The leadership of Our City emerged slowly. They were nervous about the Waterwalker, some of them old enough to remember the city’s power he had wielded on the great day of banishment. One of them no doubt full of poison about the Waterwalker’s malice and iniquity.
“Oh, Ladycrapit.” Edeard groaned softly at the sight of the man who was first out of the door. Dinlay had never warned him.
Vintico gave the Waterwalker a defiant stare. He was a lanky man with his mother’s eyes. Edeard might have guessed that Salrana would somehow get herself ensnared in this debacle.
There were about twenty people crowding into Rainbow Square behind Vintico, all of them staring directly at him, curious and nervous but determined, too, resolute that their advantage and position would not be taken from them by the Waterwalker, the epitome of “old” Makkathran.
Edeard addressed them all, remaining calm and quiet, demonstrating how reasonable he was. “This has to stop,” he said. “People are suffering outside the city wall. That cannot be right.”
“No, indeed, it isn’t right,” Vintico said, with murmurs of approval goading him on. “Why should good Makkathran families who followed Rah himself out of the chaos be denied a place to live? We have rights, too. When do we ever hear of those being spoken by you and your cronies on the Council, eh?”
“The Lady herself has brought us to this time when the citizens of this world are fulfilled. They must be guided to the Heart by the Skylords. This is not in dispute.”
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